


into the coals

by raewrites



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming In Pants, Gansey On Fire, M/M, NSFW, Rutting, The Dream Thieves - Freeform, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrites/pseuds/raewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They haven’t done this in awhile, and Ronan’s lips and teeth and tongue brush the dust off the memory of their first time, years ago. A little too much fire, hearts singing with want for adventure, toeing the line of danger, daring the universe to take them out in the flames. He remembers the way Ronan had looked at him, grin splitting his face, all of his sharp angles dusted with ashes. </i>
</p><p>  <i>A boy. A phoenix.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	into the coals

**Author's Note:**

> i found a paragraph or two of this in my evernote while searching for something to compose of one-shot out of. decided to brush the dust off and give it new life.
> 
> dedicated to the r/g crew: [jordan](http://amurasakibara.tumblr.com/), [val](http://dandylionseeds.tumblr.com/), and [maddie](http://ronanlunches.tumblr.com/).

The damp night air of the Henrietta summer whips into the interior of the BMW, drowning Gansey’s whirring thoughts in a buzzing static of wind on leather. Gansey taps his fingers on the seat divider between them, a restless motion that dances in the tension of the car, inches from where Ronan’s hand grips the gear shift.  
  
     Gansey envisions the feel of the bottle in his hands, the flame crawling up the torn cotton of the shirt, licking his wrist. He replays the throw in his head, eyes sliding from the burning car to Ronan standing beside him, the other’s eyes reflecting the flames. He remembers the look Ronan had given him, reminiscent of their past, youthful transgressions; intense and crushing, his pupils twin black holes.  
  
     Gansey wants Ronan under his hands now, incendiary and tearing at the seams. He craves the jagged boy's dark and acidic wickedness between his fingers and his teeth. The feeling, the want of it, wraps like barbed wire around Gansey's good sense. It tangles, cutting and sharp, and picks at scabs he'd thought they'd forgotten with age and Adam’s presence.   
  
     Gansey has been water for so long, a dampening force driven by his pervasive sensibility. He’s grown into the role, abandoning heedless action, weighing his choices on an imagined scale, anticipating their worth before acting. But now, buzzing with the night air in his lungs and the smell of burning leather threaded in his clothes, he feels like he's joined Ronan in the coals.  
  
     “Stop the car.” he says, voice terribly unlike his own as it grates from his throat, acid and grit. He’s notices the slide of Ronan’s eyes in his peripheral and he holds his jaw firm as Ronan presses on the brakes, skirting the BMW to the edge of the road. The tires leave skid marks on the concrete like harsh paint strokes on a canvas, and the smell of charred rubber burns sharp in Gansey's nose.  
  
     Gansey fumbles for his seat belt buckle, whipping it over his shoulder as Ronan throws the gear shift into park. His heart beats like another’s as he climbs over the seat divider, pressing his palm to the driver’s side window to steady himself as he straddles Ronan’s lap, crushed between the steering wheel and the other’s heaving chest.  
  
     “The seat— Ronan—“ Gansey says, losing the weight to his voice as Ronan reaches between the seat and the driver’s side door, pulling the adjustment lever and dropping the two of them to a horizontal position. Gansey’s forearm brushes the side of Ronan’s face as he elbow settles on the headrest, their chests an ebb and flow of eager breaths.  
  
     “Gansey.” Ronan says, his voice imitating a growl as Gansey slowly leans back, his hands gripping and tugging apart the worn leather of the other’s jacket, fingers clumsy on the zipper.  
  
     “I want—“ Gansey breathes, the words sticking in his throat, his focus dropping to the pit of his stomach as Ronan shifts unexpectedly beneath him, “I  _need—“_  
  
Ronan pushes aside Gansey’s hands, snaking his own at the back of Gansey’s neck and pulling him down, crashing their lips together because he understands. He too occupies the primal plane they share in the moment, the need to touch and be touched, to share in the same prodding that stokes them from ember to flame.  
  
     They haven’t done this in awhile, and Ronan’s lips and teeth and tongue brush the dust off the memory of their first time, years ago. A little too much fire, hearts singing with want for adventure, toeing the line of danger, daring the universe to take them out in the flames. He remembers the way Ronan had looked at him, grin splitting his face, all of his sharp angles dusted with ashes.   
  
     A boy. A phoenix.  
  
     A new heat blazes from the pit of Ganseys' stomach, twisting and pulsing hot and white as Ronan’s hips undulate beneath him. He gasps into the other’s mouth as Ronan tugs at the hair curled to the back of his neck, the other swallowing it a moment later. Gansey’s hands palm at Ronan’s chest, sliding to the hem of his tank top beneath the leather.   
  
      _“Gansey.”_ Ronan groans as Gansey’s hands make purchase along the lean muscle of Ronan’s abdomen, the heat of the other seeping beneath his finger pads, lighting his veins like a match to a wick.  
  
     Ronan’s hands work from the back of Gansey's neck to the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head. Gansey shakes his hair out of his eyes, threading his fingers between the loose strands before dropping to catch Ronan’s bottom lip between his teeth. The blood in his body divides at his middle, flushing everything between his chest to his ears a brilliant pink. And the rest—  
  
     “G-God—“ Gansey stutters, the backs of his eyelids a flicker of pulsating white as he feels Ronan’s cock hard against his own beneath their jeans.  
  
     “Didn’t take you long to get it up.” Ronan comments, mouth forming a wicked grin before he nips hard at the slope of Gansey’s neck. Gansey half hopes he leaves a mark, “Were you hard before we left?”  
  
     “Shut up, Lynch.” Gansey replies, reaching between them to cup Ronan through his jeans hard enough to elicit a strangled noise from between the other’s lips, Ronan’s head lolling back against the seat.  
  
      _“Shit.”_ Ronan gathers a fractured breath as Gansey works at the buckle of Ronan’s belt, leaving Ronan to the zipper as he fumbles at his own. Ronan shimmies his hips out of his jeans just enough for Gansey to see the distinct outline of his cock beneath the threaded gray of his cotton boxers. Ronan's fingers hook at the hem of Gansey’s jeans, tugging impatiently and Gansey lifts his hips to assist in the motion.  
  
     Gansey settles himself on Ronan’s lap again, rutting his cock against Ronan’s in a heedless motion, gasping a string of elaborate curses between his lips and closing his eyes tight to keep from being torn apart too soon. He grips Ronan’s headrest until his knuckles turn white, drawing in several shaky breaths to steady himself. He knows Ronan’s eyes are on him, and he feels the other’s thumb trace the curve of his waist, waiting.  
  
     Rolling his hips again, slower this time, Gansey drinks in the sound of Ronan’s grating moan, lets the sound guide the rhythm.  
  
     “Listen to me, Lynch.” Gansey breathes, heart threatening to crack the cage of his ribs. He opens his eyes slowly, catching Ronan’s gaze. The other’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, consuming all but a thin ring of blue. Ronan’s grip tightens on his hips, fingertips bruising the flesh over his hipbones,  “Grind up against me. Make me  _come,_  Ronan.”  
  
     “Fuck, _Gansey.”_  Ronan’s cock twitches beneath the fabric of his boxers, his hips rolling in a reactionary motion.  
  
      _“C’mon._ I don’t care how rough.” Gansey’s voice hooks on the other, fishing the snake, luring the demon. Gansey anticipates the hitch in Ronan’s breath before it happens, the affect his words have on the other thrilling under his skin like electricity. _“Just do it.”_  
  
Ronan’s hands slide to the small of Gansey’s back, fingers pressed to the knob of his spin. Gansey stutters a breath into the corner of Ronan’s mouth as the other rolls his hips up into him the moment Gansey grinds down. His body feels numb to all but the sensation of Ronan’s cock sliding against his, the tension of being close but not quite drawing a throaty moan from his lips.   
  
     Gansey mouths at the hinge of Ronan’s jaw, long beyond the threshold of thinking before speaking as he whispers pleading demands against Ronan’s flushed skin. Ronan responds to each with nips and bites along Gansey’s neck and shoulder, stuttered curses like hushed prayers as his arms grip tight around Gansey’s lower back, pulling him down and close.  
  
     “Like that. _Yes.”_ Gansey hums, nosing at Ronan’s temple, close to the shell of his ear, “Jesus. _Ronan._ Don’t stop—“  
  
     “Ganey, I’m—“ Ronan groans, hips stuttering in their rhythm as he reaches to pull Gansey down into a hard kiss, breathing and cursing against his tongue. The other’s entire body shudders as the orgasm racks his bones, shivering and blabbering nonsensical words into the juncture of Gansey’s neck and shoulder.   
  
     Gansey’s own orgasm burns out of him, slower than Ronan’s violent ignition. It’s pulled from him like a thread, beginning at his cock and unraveling to the lengths of his fingers and toes, pulsing under his skin and splitting his nerves in overwhelming pleasure.  
  
     His hands drag down Ronan’s chest as he comes down, brushing over their damp boxers, eliciting another shudder from Ronan, who swats Gansey’s hands away irritably without lifting his head from where it had lolled against the headrest.  
  
     “You _dick.”_ Ronan manages, voice hoarse and weak. A lazy grin follows, however, and Gansey matches it. He leans down to kiss Ronan again, softer this time. His tongue traces Ronan’s, glides at the back of his teeth and the roof of his mouth, tasting ashes and boy.  
  
     Heaving a satisfied sigh, Gansey pulls away with a smug smile, maneuvering his way over the seat divider and into the passenger seat once more. Pulling his own jeans up and reaching into the back seat to retrieve his pullover, Gansey glances over as Ronan continues to lay idly in his seat, eyes closed.  
  
     “You can dream when I’m gone, Lynch.” Gansey says, pulling his shirt over his head. When he brushes his hair out of his eyes, Ronan’s are open and looking at him again. There’s something soft and vulnerable about them in that moment, like Gansey had asked him for his heart on a plate, and he’d started sharpening the knife.  
  
     “The world, remember?” Gansey continues, glancing out the window over the tree line, flashes of fire still flickering between the dense wood, “Dream me the world.”


End file.
